


For the first time

by Epephany



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Declarations Of Love, Gay Sex, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, Sherlock can roll a blunt, Top!lock, Two beautiful idiots, Weed, smoking weed, toplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epephany/pseuds/Epephany
Summary: "Breathe in," Holmes told him, his voice choked because of the pot he was still holding in. He angled his head and began to blow smoke directly into John's mouth. When Sherlock pursed his lips to blow, his bottom lips just barley skated over John's. The touch was so light that it made his mouth tickle. He was too shocked to move, so he just obeyed, inhaling what was blown at him.In which Sherlock and John smoke weed together for the first time. For a case of course





	

John was surprised when he entered 221b to find that Sherlock was blaring very loud and very vulgar rap music. He was also taken aback by the strange and incredibly strong smell that filled the flat.

"I ain't chasin' no pussy girl, I'm talkin' 'bout the digits." Bloody hell he thought as he quickly put the recently bought groceries onto the counter. He walked into the living room and was greeted by the sight of a shirtless and focused Sherlock Holmes. He sat on the couch, pale body tensed fingers under his chin and staring at something on the table in front of him. The smell was overwhelming in here, he thought. He looked up,

"Oh good, you're here, I need you." The detective said, turning his eyes on the doctor.

"With what," Watson asked cautiously.

"First, take off your shirt, and then come sit." John looked at him.

"What the bloody hell for," He demanded, he had been running errands all day and didn't appreciate his flat-mate/best friend ordering him around as soon as he walked in the door. Sherlock just rolled his eyes,

"It's for a case," he said impatiently, nodding at the coffee table in front of him. John looked at it and was flabbergasted.

"Is this…is all of this marijuana?" He asked astounded by the fact that he was just now seeing it. Piles, literally piles of cannabis littered the table, all deep shades of green with a few hints of purple thrown in. Some of it was clumped together and some of it was strewn out, like little flakes of oatmeal.

"It's for a case," Sherlock said again, his rumbling voice obviously bored.

"You can't use that excuse for everything!" John said, exasperated. Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

"There is a man, twenty-four years of age and approximately six foot-two, on the East side of London accused of murdering his girlfriend in her apartment Sunday night. He said that he spent all of that day smoking marijuana, and that he couldn't have been there because he was too stoned to get off the couch." He explained quickly, skipping over the more intricate and complicated areas of the case.

"What do you need me for?" John asked.

"The man was with his best friend, who was also listed as an accomplice."

"Why do we have to be shirtless?"

"The accused were,"

"What's with the music?"

"Same as the last question, I've been informed that it's called 'Trap Music'."

"Where did you even get all of this?" John asked, gesturing to the impressive pile between them.

"I pulled some strings at the police department's evidence lock-up, now are you going to help me or keep asking me irrelevant questions?" Sherlock asked impatiently. John didn't think any of his questions were irrelevant, but reached behind himself and peeled off his soft t-shirt and dropped it into an empty chair. Sherlock couldn't help but to notice that John's body was…well it was. His abdomen was made of taunt muscles, his biceps bulged in an obvious but not obnoxious way, and his entire body had an impressive yet subtle tan to it. John plopped down beside his flat-mate, looking at him expectantly. Sherlock blinked,

"Right then," The he reached forward and grabbed a piece of brown paper. He scooped a generous amount of weed onto it and skillfully wrapped, twisted and licked it into a neat little tube. John stared in astonishment,

"Where the bloody hell did you learn how to do that?" he asked, amazement bleeding from his words.

"Why give a bitch your heart when she rather have a purse, why give a bitch an inch when she rather have nine?" John was hallway distracted by the music that was still pumping in the flat.

"YouTube," he said simply. He brought the blunt to his lips, took a deep drag and waited. John watched, transfixed. There was thick, pure white smoke slowly poured out of Sherlock's mouth, curling and twisting almost supernaturally. He looked like something out of a photo shoot, with the lights low and his lean and toned body stretched out gracefully, snake like slivers of smoke floating from his mouth, his handsome face clear and relaxed. Sherlock's pink lips contrasted with the smoke perfectly and John couldn't help but think he looked hot. In a totally not gay way though, he wasn't like that. Sherlock passed the still burning blunt to John as he blew the last of the smoke. Sherlock's long fingers bumped John's war torn hands. They were surprisingly soft and strangely cold. John could feel Sherlock look at him but didn't meet his eye, afraid that the detective would see the flush of red in his cheeks. He attempted to pull in deep like Sherlock had, but promptly choked, the bitter smoke tangling in his throat and wrapping around his wind pipes. He coughed and sputtered, his entire face turning red as he gasped for air. Holmes handed him a semi-warm bottle of water and the doctor drained it quickly and thankfully. He looked over to see Sherlock staring at him, half amused and half…well he couldn't really place it, but he was giving him a tiny smirk. He cut his eyes away and attempted another hit. The same thing happened. Sherlock huffed and said

"Come here," the detective slid closer to Watson and plucked the blunt from his hand. John turned to him.

"Get close," he told him and John slid forward a few inches.

"Closer," John hesitated but scooted forward a bit more. Sherlock sighed, took an enormous drag, then reached his hand behind John's neck and pulled their faces so close together that the small, white blonde hairs on his chin brushed Sherlock's skin.

"Breathe in," Holmes told him, his voice choked because of the pot he was still holding in. He angled his head and began to blow smoke directly into John's mouth. When Sherlock pursed his lips to blow, his bottom lips just barley skated over John's. The touch was so light that it made his mouth tickle. He was too shocked to move, so he just obeyed, inhaling what was blown at him.

Chapter 2

John had never been stoned before. He hadn't been a lot of things before.

"Could you get off the couch if you tried?" Sherlock asked, his usually clipped voice rumbled deep, like a cello being played underwater.

"I…um…probably not," He said, tripping over simple words.

"Fantastic," Holmes said. There was a pause then the men erupted with laughter. Tears gathered in John's eyes and fell down his cheeks, which felt oddly heavy for some reason.

"Why are you crying, this is a happy time!" Sherlock asked, sounding incredulous.

"I don't know!" John said, tears streaking his face. Sherlock turned to him and began wiping his wet face with his fingertips. John shuttered at their frosty temperature.

"Why are your hands always so cold?" He asked.

"Not sure, they've always been that way." Holmes told him, still thumbing away stray tears. John caught the detective's hand in both of his, brought them to his mouth and huffed on them, trying to warm them. Sherlock froze, watching him. Watson covered the man's hands with his completely and blew hotly on them again. Sherlock began to relax, closing his eyes as he lost himself in the way the doctor's breath felt on his permanently frigid hand.

"Other one," John demanded when the skin was acceptably toasty. Sherlock switched, keeping his eyes on his flat-mate. After a while John released his hand and Sherlock wasn't sure how he felt about that. A new song drifted from the detective's IPod dock. It was different from the rest, still rap, but slower, John liked it. The voice was smooth and inviting and made John think of melted chocolate dripping from someone's lips.

"Who is this?" he asked. Holmes leaned up and squinted at the screen.

"The Weekend and…somebody else, their American,"

"Do you like the way I flick my tongue or nah? You can ride my face until you drip and cum. Can you lick this tit then throat the dick or nah," he heard Sherlock give a low, dark laugh at the last line, causing John to cast him a glance. He wanted to blame his haze for what he thought, but his head was completely clear when he pictured Sherlock blowing him. Fuck! Where did that come from he asked himself. But…he knew exactly where it came from. Sherlock's beautiful and full mouth was slightly open, his dark curls were askew from the many times he had run his fingers through it tonight, his pale body was like marble, all smooth skin and hard lines of muscle. He was a gorgeous man. And the overly-sexual music was not helping. Sherlock caught his eye and they stared at each other for what felt like a long time. He was not entirely surprised when he felt blood rush to his cock. However, he became suddenly and painfully aware that his once loose jeans were now tight, his building erection pressing against the rough fabric. Sherlock accessed him, dilated pupils, either from the marijuana or arousal; hands slightly trembling, nervous; crossed legs…he was on hard. Any further deducing he could have done was silenced when he noticed. John saw his face when he noticed and blushed. Fuck, he thought angrily, now Sherlock was going to be weirded out and leave. But he wasn't. The detective moved slowly, keeping his eyes on the doctor as he moved closer, as if waiting for him to jump up and sprint away. John felt his heart skipped, he knew what was coming, he was terrified and excited and so many other things. His breath literally stopped when Sherlock's lips brushed his neck.

Chapter 3

Sherlock pressed his mouth to the sensitive skin behind John's ear, a slight open mouth kiss. John gasped,

"Sherlock…" Holmes gave another warm kiss under his jaw, where his pulse thundered loudly. John trembled when Sherlock's tongue gave a small lick to his scar. No one had ever done that before, and damn if it wasn't the most intimate and amazing thing he had ever experienced.

"Sherlock…don'-" he meant to say don't, but he couldn't, he didn't want him to. He didn't want him to ever be farther away from him than he was now. Sherlock's nose was touching his cheek now, nuzzling closer to his mouth. He had been with women, a lot of women, like this before, but it was never like this. His entire body was charged with electricity, his breath was uneven and they had barely touched, all he could think about was Sherlock and how he felt, smelled and sounded. Sherlock began to question himself, did John really want this or was it just the marijuana? He paused, waiting for him to say something; something about how he wasn't gay or to tell him to stop. But it never came. He looked at him and was surprised to see that his eyes were swimming with need and lust and excitement. He brought his head forward slowly, still expecting John to shove him away, that maybe he had misread the signals he had given him. When his lips hit his…bloody hell, John's mouth opened, allowing Sherlock to slip his tongue in and explore. John was surprised that Holmes was such a good kisser, he had expected less technique, maybe teeth bumping? He had obviously had practice, and Watson was not exactly thrilled at the idea.

Sherlock's tongue trailed lightly over the doctor's teeth, then over his tongue. John made a surprised little noise and melted against him. Their kiss was hot and wet and tasted like weed. John was acutely aware when Sherlock began pressing more of his weight on him, pushing him onto his back on the couch. He pushed his hands in his hair, the curls wrapping themselves around his fingers. Watson was shocked at their texture, like someone had threaded water and silk together and made Holmes' hair out of it. It was so soft. Sherlock eased the soldier down so that he was straddling him, his knees on either sides of the man's thighs. John gasped when Sherlock's rock hard erection pressed against his, the sensation new and felt terribly naughty, he couldn't get enough. The detective pulled his mouth away to press more kisses to the doctor's neck, who in response gave a deep moan and tilted his head to give the man a better angle. The kisses traveled from his throat, then his chest, down his stomach and rested at the waistband of his jeans. John looked down at him and was greeted by those eyes…those eyes that he could never give an accurate color to. Blue? Grey? He didn't know, but they were beautiful.

Sherlock's beautiful mouth was parted, shiny and swollen from all the kissing. John's skin still tingled from where they had been running over his skin, his body was on fire every time he touched him.

John kept looking at him as he began to slide his jeans down, just an inch at a time. Sherlock caught his cotton boxers between his teeth and brought them down; John nearly came just watching him. Sherlock looked up at him again before giving the underside of his cock a long wet lick. John's back seemed to arch itself. Sherlock pressed wet open mouthed kisses all over his shaft, the head, the length, even the balls. John ground his teeth together to keep from making an obscene noise. Where the bloody hell did he learn to do this, he thought incredulously as whimpers threatened to tear out of his throat. Sherlock lapped the sensitive slit at the head of John's cock, the pre cum coating his tongue. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled the head into his mouth and preformed a tricky maneuver with his tongue. John's entire body jerked at the move, nobody had ever done that to him before, and goddamn if it wasn't the best head that he had ever gotten, and they had just started. Sherlock pulled more of the doctor into him, using lots of saliva to make the movement smooth. Holmes pulled back to work his hand on him, twisting his wrist as he went. When he went back down, he eased John's entire length into him, gagging slightly as he slid deeper and deeper into his tight wet throat. John gasped in astonishment, his fingers flying to the dark eyed man's head. He had never been deep throated before and the sensation exploded throughout his body, rocking and twisting him out of consciousness. Sherlock reached down and began to stroke himself, pulling in time with the bobbing of his head. Sherlock's fingers lightly traced over his balls, causing the doctor's eyes to roll backwards. John accidently jerked his hips forward, sending his cock straight back down Sherlock's hot throat. It hit the ring of muscles in the back of his throat and John cried out in pleasure. Sherlock moaned, the vibration humming through the soldier's cock.

"I'm…" he began; trying to warn the detective that he was getting close…he didn't move. His legs were shaking…hard. When he did cum, it was an explosion; it ripped out of him and tore through his very being. Sherlock kept sucking him off, swallowing the thick salty cum as it came. Not even minutes after that, Holmes finished, he spilled all over the couch and on his hand. The men were panting, struggling to catch their breath.

Sherlock slowly let his full weight fall onto his lover; he buried his face into John's slightly wet from sweat neck, their heaving chests pressed together. John wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Well…we didn't get off the couch," Sherlock said, breaking the silence. They laughed at that for


End file.
